Hearts in Olympus
by Briar Hecate
Summary: The Greeks Gods muse about times in their lives when have truly lived, loved and suffered. Mentions much relevant mythology.
1. God of Gods, Zeus

**Author's Note**: I have been studying some aspects of Greek Mythology and have had this idea in my head for a while. Enjoy and please review.

Bear up, my child, bear up; Zeus who oversees and directs all things is still mighty in heaven.  
**Sophocles**

**Soundtrack- **Unthought Known by Pearl Jam

**Zeus**

A sunrise means so much to the mortal. To the ones who die.

As much as he tries, he cannot comprehend it. He acknowledges Apollo on his task well done. But he looks down on the Earth and notices the mortals waking and admiring the colors of the sunset splashed across the sky, red like the fruit of a pomegranate and more golden than Aphrodite's hair.

Zeus wakes with the morning, watching the fellow god's chariot drag light across the horizon. He notes the changes in shade, the slight mixture of night and day entangled into each other like the bodies of two lovers.

And suddenly understands.

He is the god of gods. He is the king of the immortals. The man does not age. He does not live with the knowledge that despite his accomplishments, despite his beliefs, despite his righteousness he will die. His body will never perish.

The morning is cool, but he does not mind. He sits on the edge of the bed, his wife stirs beside him. Another day to rise. Another day to watch over the subjects beneath him. Another day to eat and drink and enjoy his status. Another day in heaven.

So he understands.

For him, it is only another day. Only another day.


	2. A Good Woman, Hera

Behind every successful man is a woman, behind her is his wife.  
**Groucho Marx **

**Soundtrack: **What If by Coldplay

**Hera**

She was the chosen one. Wife of the god of gods. Zeus had _chosen_ her. He had hand picked her out of all of the other women to sit on the throne beside him. He plucked her out of the fogs of obscurity and gave her a purpose: to rule over Olympus at his side.

She was so foolish when she was younger.

So in love with her new husband, so eager to please. Every time she wove flowers into her chestnut hair, it was for him. Every time she birthed his children the pain meant nothing if she knew it would please him. Everything she did was in his name, everything she did was for him.

And for a while he reciprocated.

But time wears on for the immortal and Zeus had always had wandering eyes.

She grows older every day. Not in body, no, never in her body. In her mind though, she is as withered and as tormented as an old crone. She has seen too much and felt too much. She and her husband distanced themselves long ago and though they sleep in the same bed, though sometimes they still couple she can feel the growing fissure between them.

It is as wide and deep as an ocean trench. She began resenting him a while ago... she has stopped counting the years. She only knows that she no longer feels the same way.

She seats herself on an empty crone. She feels void of a purpose. She detests it.

Perhaps that is why she spites his lovers. Yes, it were his lovers that took meaning away from her. And Herakles, mighty Herakles should have never been born. No matter though, he may have escaped her wrath once, but now she has a new plan.

Four of the twelve labors are done. The hero still has a long way before his mission is over.

The goddess smiles to herself and examines her fingernails. They are a pale pink color and one of them is chipped. The corners of her mouth turn down in slight disappointment. She takes such pride in her appearance. She hates to have something out of place.

She glances at Hermes flying over the horizon, his staff in hand. He lands softly at her feet. He bows his head. Good Hermes, such a loyal servant.

"Yes Hermes," Hera says, slightly impatient.

"My Queen, Herakles has sent me to tell you-"

"Yes, I know, the fourth labor is finished," she rises from the drown and descends the steps, adjusting her crown slightly.

"What shall I tell him then?" he asks.

The demure smile returns to her pale lips. "You are to tell him," she begins pausing to smooth her toga, "Augeas' stables need cleaning. It should only take a day."

Hermes looks surprised. He was probably expecting worse. Instead of voicing an opinion he nods and wisps away to inform the mortal man of the next labor to be accomplished.

Hera knows that she did not grant him a life-threatening task this time. She knows that this will be a challenge but relatively easy for the man. She knows.

She decides that saving the wost for last is the best way to stay entertained these days.


	3. Of The Sea, Poseidon

The sea pronounces something, over and over, in a hoarse whisper; I cannot quite make it out.

** Annie Dillard **

**Soundtrack- **I'm With You by The Stills

**Poseidon **

He watches the red horse gallop across the beach. He is satisfied with his creation. Something so proud, something so beautiful and free could only be a true gift of the gods. How else could anything this great come into existence?

Truly, he is too kind to men.

But he did not do it for man, he did it for her. She rides the animal, laughing in the wind. That wind is carried over the ocean. He hears it and closes his eyes. It is reassurance that she is still breathing and that thought is enough to cause his heart to beat wildly with joy.

She sits astride the animal with inhuman grace. She is soft with her demands and yet so firm. She shows kindness to all animals but he notices that she saves a great deal of respect for the horse. He wonders if she would have been as kind to him if they were bound in marriage.

Demeter knew that by asking him to create the most beautiful animal he would be preoccupied. That was a long time ago. His passion has long since cooled, but he still holds a special place in his heart for her.

He gazes upon the elegant animals going boldly into battle, pacing delicately through the cities and he remembers how he used to feel about her. Their inquisitive eyes mirror her eyes. Their long, lean legs are in resemblance to her own strong ones that carry her everywhere. Their graceful, sloping neck were sculpted from her own swan-like throat.

Something so incredible could have only been fashioned out of love. And truly he feels that he did honor his word to her.

The horse carries her over the beach effortlessly. She kneads her fingers farther into its mane and urges it on. The animal complies with a spirited kick of its heels. She laughs more loudly and molds her body to the horse's back. She glances over the water and smiles.

He nods and laughs to himself.


	4. Born of Bloodshed, Ares

We make war that we may live in peace **Aristotle ** **Soundtrack- **Wait by Alexi Murdoch

**Ares**

The god of war has his moments when he can be kind. Ares, walking back from a battle, bloodied with fresh scars looks down at his weapon. He allows himself to have a moment of peace. He wipes the crusted blood from the blade and satisfied, sheaths it.

He shows kindness to his sword. He knows that it carries him through wars. He knows that without it, he would not be the god of war.

He also knows that he would not be considered the god of fear or anger. Really though, he understands that this was who he was meant tot be. He is not as vivacious as Apollo or as gullible as Dionysus. He certainly was not as dark as Hades, though he is dark sometimes. And he was never as swift as Hermes (he was never really good at remembering things anyways).

Still he stares out across the fields and he ponders what it would be like to have kings worship him instead of soldiers. He wonders how different he would be if farmers were providing him with sacrifices instead of frustrated war generals.

He takes off his helmet and examines it.

There are new dents in the metal. His reflection is distorted. Slightly disgusted he tosses it carelessly to the ground. He will have Hephaestus fashion him a new one as soon as he gets back to Olympus.

He bends down and encloses a fistful of heavy, damp sand. It slips through the cracks of his fingers falling back down to Earth, not to be recognized again.

He has been dreaming about her again.

Vain, quick-tempered, intoxicatingly beautiful. He can't imagine why he's been with her. Why she chose him of all people. He regrets it sometimes. He finds himself feeling guilty. It's not fair. Zeus should have let Ares have Aphrodite. It would have been so much better that way.

Instead they're forced to sneak around like a common whores. He's been thinking about ending it. She says he's too hard. He says she's too self-absorbed. They should not be a good match. But when they're together... oh when they're together.

Nothing could be more right.

So he looks down at the blood-stained plains and brushes the dust off of his armor. Ares has never been one to show too much joy. For some reason the thought of her the corners of his mouth twitch upward. He has his kind moments.


	5. Daughter of the Arrow, Artemis

"I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the **stars**."

** Og Mandino**

**Soundtrack- **Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy

**Artemis**

He put the hunter up in the sky so everyone would remember him. She has yet to decide if his star-lit portrait kills her every time she sees it or makes her heart flutter with memory.

She loved him. She _loved_ him. Saying this, thinking this seems unbelievable. The Virgin goddess of the hunt was destined never to know the touch of a man. And still she does not know the touch. She has sworn an oath that after him, after what she felt... she wouldn't... no, _couldn't_ be with another man.

Tonight Artemis lays her bow on the grass and stares up at the constellation. The stars shine, full of some distinct hope she cannot name. It brings a tear to her eye. She had promised herself that she wouldn't cry.

She was not the type to cry over a man. She was strong. With her bow she was invincible.

And when she was with him... when she was with him nothing seemed dull anymore. There was no such thing as evil. There was no such thing as pain or suffering. There was no such thing as gravity. Orion made the world around her glow.

And now he's glowing.

Maybe Orion's death was for her own good. She still hasn't spoken to her twin brother. Apollo saw no problem with his death. But then again, Apollo never really had any care for anyone else' feelings.

"If I knew it was you..." she begins. Then she realizes that she is only addressing the empty space.

What's the use? He cannot come down from the stars. He cannot see what's she's going through. He cannot hear her sobs in the middle of the night. He is not there to hear her apology. He is dead.

And that is the end.

He is dead and he left her to be alone for eternity.

"For the love of Zeus, Orion, I didn't _know_..." She doesn't care about speaking to empty space. It feels so much better just to say it.

She never meant to kill him. She loved him... _loved_ him. Apollo had tricked her. He had deceived her into believing her lover was not a man at all. She had believed in that one moment of foolishness that he was a target, a target mean to be hit with her arrow.

But she did. And all she is left with is an almost-lover. There was no romance. There is only the dream of the romance.

Artemis looks up to the sky. Now she cannot forget him. But instead of causing her pain, it makes her happy. For a moment she feels better.


	6. Hearth and Home, Hestia

"Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves- regret for the past and fear of the future"

**Fulton Oursler**

**Soundtrack- **Collect Call by Metric

**Hestia**

There was nothing more comforting to her than sitting beside her hearth, watching the fire leap up and lick the stone of the fireplace. She uses the metal poker methodically and precisely, like a soldier and his sword.

She feels forgotten more than often. She wonders if Zeus, her brother, thinks about her.

She knows he doesn't. The thought is more truthful than harming. She is not harmed so easily anymore. As soon as she left Olympus she felt more free, more in control of her own destiny. She likes how that feels.

But still, there are moments when she wonders what it could have been like. Hestia had always been a bit of a dreamer. Not that this makes any difference.

Hestia never roamed or had adventures. She never loved, or been loved to the point of intimacy. She will not know intimacy. She decides that is doesn't matter. She will leave the roaming to those more adventurous than her; to those more spirited.

She does not regret it. She tells herself this frequently

Goddesses in general, do not regret. They are all driven by different talents and perceptions. Demeter has her earth, Artemis has her bow and Aphrodite has her beauty.

And Hestia has her hearth.

The flames are rising higher now. She sighs and throws charcoal over them, calming the heat slightly. She looks out the nearby window and sees the ghosts of great heroes in the sky. She can see part of Hercules' constellation.

She wonders if he has any regrets.


	7. Days in Darkness, Hades

"Go to Heaven for the climate, Hell for the company"

**Mark Twain**

**Soundtrack**- Under the Bridge by The Red Hot Chili Peppers

**Hades**

Hades has black hair. He's always had black hair.

Some of the gods have beautiful, golden locks. Some have long, red tresses. Others are the owners of auburn and chocolate hair. Theirs is dark, but not black. No, he is unique when it comes to this color. He wonders (almost comically, to amuse himself at times) if this is why Zeus chose him to rule the underworld.

Hades thumbs through his paper work. Hermes, who delivered more souls today, had informed him that it was raining. Hermes is his only real connection to the outside world. The two manage to maintain a cordial relationship with one another.

Hades takes the souls. And Hermes tells him the weather.

He wracks his brain trying to remember what rain is like. It has been a long time since he last visited the up-top. Water. Falling from the sky. He strokes his chin.

Hades has grown to like the underworld. Perhaps, a little too much.

He has grown used to the routine of waking and then working tirelessly, to what seems like no avail each and every day. It was wretched at the beginning, but then he became fond of the cool air and the quiet solitude that surrounded him.

Darkness is an old friend of his.

They talk to each other like soldiers on the battlefield. Each is the other's companion. They can carry out, long drawling conversations or make short, polite quips.

Hades smooths back his hair and stands up. He walks over to the fire and stands by it. The flames warm him slightly. He yawns. Tired, lonely, apathetic.

For him, its just another day.


	8. Live and Let Die, Demeter

"How strange when an illusion dies, it's as though you've lost a child"

**Judy Garland**

**Soundtrack**- The Hardest Part by Coldplay

**Demeter**

A tear slips from her face and melts into the earth. The ground suddenly feels cold. The trees are bare, the last of the dead leaves have fallen. Demeter closes her eyes and digs her fingers into the soft, moist dirt. The earth becomes hard and frozen.

Dead, like she is.

She does not have to perish to feel death. Death becomes her. Where she walks, plants wither and flowers blacken. She has her eternal youth, but youth is just a body. Youth is just a shell.

Her soul is gone.

She had given her soul to her daughter. That is why she cannot live now. Her daughter has gone and has taken her mother's soul with her.

Demeter lies splayed out on the ground. Her hair, once bold and sparkling, now limp and darker shrouds the area around her head like a dim halo. Her chest rises and falls. A few more tears fall down the sides of her face.

She can see her breath. The smoke issues from her mouth in long ropes.

The goddess has stopped counting the days her daughter has been missing. All she knows is that she has left her here to rot. Her very essence has been stolen away from her. She will make those around her understand what she is feeling. She will make whoever stole her daughter away pay.

Perhaps it was her fault. Demeter had never been an extraordinary parent. There were many times when her daughter accused her of keeping too firm a hand on her. Demeter's daughter was too optimistic about the world. The day she disappeared, Demeter should have _been_ there.

Demeter ceases crying. A figure is approaching her from a distance.

Like all of the gods, she has an aura glowing off of her skin. Athena enters Demeter's small, dead sanctum. She is dressed in her gilded armor and golden helmet. Her long, red curls are pulled back fiercely. Demeter knows that Athena has been searching for Persephone, her daughter.

Athena's face is grim.

"What news?" asks Demeter.

"It is Hades that has taken her," Athena answers.

Demeter's face becomes ashen. Her stomach lurches. Her, daughter... lively, vivacious Persephone, dragged down to the underworld. Persephone will not survive there. Her light, her glorious, brazen light will be snuffed out.

Demeter and her daughter will both be dead.

"Chin up, goddess, my father is going to negotiate with my uncle," she tells Demeter.

Demeter sinks back to the ground. She does not thank Athena, she does not offer her anything. Athena leaves respectfully, leaving Demeter alone once more.

She thinks this over. A negotiation. A negotiation...

A violet blooms beside her.


	9. Love is Lost, Apollo

I hold it true, whate'er befall;  
I feel it, when I sorrow most;  
'Tis better to have loved and lost  
Than never to have loved at all.

**Lord Alfred Tennyson**

**Soundtrack: **I Stand Corrected by Vampire Weekend

**Apollo**

He is bored. Apollo is never bored.

There is always something for the god to participate in. His steeds need tending to, the down-below needs to be trifled with, there are parties to attend and prayers to adhere to.

He sighs dramatically. Most days he lolls beneath laurel trees, dreaming of her.

Another her. How many have there been now? He tries not to think about it. Women and nymphs are so very troublesome. It is slightly ironic how the most handsome god is so unlucky in love. Apollo tries to sleep. He closes his eyes, but he is all too well aware of the laurels above him.

Lying on the grass he looks up at them. They are green and in full bloom. The sound of the wind blowing through the leaves reminds him of the way the winds tousled her soft hair. He clamps his eyes shut and wills the memory to go away.

Unlucky... so unlucky.

Suddenly there is a dark spot of ink spreading across the horizon. _Could it be_? He shades his eyes against the burning sun. The image spreads and Apollo feels his heart leap. His mouth becomes dry.

She's returned.

With renewed confidence he stands up, ready to greet the maiden. But it is not her. There is someone else approaching. He falls back down onto the long grass and throws his arm over his eyes.

"Go away!" he says, annoyed. Why can't they leave him alone to wallow in his self-pity?

He can hear the wings on Hermes shoes flapping rudely above him. "Apollo," he is heaving. Hermes had to fly a long way to reach him. He also detects a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Zeus needs you. Oracles need answering."

"Tell Zeus to do it himself." He says this partly to frighten Hermes. In this case, he knows that the messenger would be killed if Zeus were to receive such an unappealing response.

He spreads his fingers so he can see the messenger god. Hermes' face is twisted in anger and frustration. "Are you still moping over that nymph. What was her name? Dinah?"

"Daphne." He says it and he wheezes. It takes some effort to push the name past his lips. "Her name was Daphne."

And then as though it were never there, the pain leaves him. And he feels lighter once more; not weighted down by useless pining.

He laughs lightly and rubs his eyes. "Daphne."


	10. Freedom Found, Hermes

None are so hopelessly enslaved as those who falsely believe they are

**Goethe**

**Soundtrack- **Yellow Ledbetter by Pearl Jam

**Hermes**

There are these rare, delicate moment when Hermes feels free.

He's spent most of his life chained. So ironic. The wings on his shoes can carry him anywhere. Yet, he is tethered to the whims of the other gods. He doesn't feel like a god. He's a servant.

His purpose is not for himself. His purpose is for others.

Sometimes Hermes sees the open sky in front of him, the glimpse of the sun setting behind the clouds. The red sky bleeds over them, the rays of the sun reach toward him, beckoning Hermes onward. He flies high enough to graze the top of the sky. He stretches his arms and squeezes his eyes shut, forgetting his servitude. For a moment the tether goes slack.

He feels liberated, alive with feeling.

Then he grows tired and he can feel the weight in his body drag him back down to Earth. The dream is over. The reality is the same always.

He hears a god calling him. He goes to answer.

This time it is Aphrodite. She is lolling under a temple, the light embracing her dark hair, making some strands sparkle in its light. Aphrodite drinks her wine daintily, the way she does among men. Her eyes glint and glitter when she sees Hermes.

She is in a good mood today.

"Ah, my faithful messenger," she coos.

Hermes bows slightly. "Yes, goddess?"

She licks her bottom lip and bites it, the color rushing to it. "Send a message to Ares. Tell him that I am here... waiting."

Hermes never questions. "Yes."

"Good, fly swiftly now Hermes. Will you make me wait on a day as beautiful as this?" she softens her voice and chuckles.

"No, goddess, never."

She nods and smiles as he leaves. The wings on Hermes' shoes beat frantically as he flies to Olympus. Another day. It's all just another day.


End file.
